


Blood and memories

by Fox_In_A_Box



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Foe Yay, M/M, Swearing, seriously what did you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: When you have lived more than 800 years, faced more troubles than you can remember and lost more fights than you would like to admit, you are kind of grateful to have a daemon always watching your back, always sharing your thoughts and feelings on whatever shit life decides to throw at you. On the other hand, though, you would be definitely more grateful if she learned that sometimes there are truths that you don't really like to hear. Not even from her.





	Blood and memories

**Author's Note:**

> Trivia: The daemon's name is a Czech word which apparently has the double meaning of both "saw" and "proverb".

She has been his daemon for longer than he can remember.  
It is interesting how, after more than 800 years, his memories have started to become hazy, how facts and places and people have started to merge into one another, and yet everything related to Prislovì remains perfectly clear, fixed in his mind as if it had happened no more than a few moments ago. He remembers distinctly the day in which she settled, one rainy morning of the first of his many lives, when she was observing him at work on a new golem and suddenly they both realized that she had not changed her strange brown-furred appearenche for a while now, and that she probably would not do it any time soon.  
(«What are you even supposed to be?» Giriko asked her afterwards, the hint of a playful taunt in his voice.  
«Aren't you the one who should know that?» was the only answer he recived in exchange.  
They learned only years later that that animal who looked like a small bear but was ten times more tenacious was called a "wolverine" and no wonder they had never heard of it, as the species only lived in the cold, white forest of Scandinavia).  
And he remembers how her dark brown fur was all ruffled, how her sharp teeth were bared and ready to attack when they met Arachne for the first time.  
(«She has no daemon!»she had hissed.  
«She does. We just can't see him right now.» he had replied, trying to hide how unnerved he was, as if she could not have have been able to read his thoughts anyway.)  
And of course he remembers how she always trotted at his side while they walked down the streets and alleys of their beloved Prague, waving her tail or scaring away unwanted attention with a deep growl, perfect mirror of all the little shifts and changes in his mood. She has always been less skilled than him in concealing her violent nature and more than once Giriko had been forced to scold her for her impulsive behaviour, back then.  
It had been an immense relief for both of them when they finally dropped the façade.  
  


She is still with him now which, in itself, is already a big reassurance. At least, it means that he is unlikely to die soon, despite all the blood he has lost and the miriad of cuts and wounds that burn like hell on his skin when the rough fabric of his clothes rubs on them. Even if he does his best to ignore them, flashes of their recent defeat keep coming back to his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and fueling the ever-persistent heap of rage coiling in his chest.   
Bloody and beaten, he and Prislovì had been forced to swallow their pride and retreat to avoid being killed by him. _By that blond bastard and his fucking bird daemon._  
«Fuckin' hell!» Giriko spits, stumbling for the umpteenth time and having to lean on a nearby tree to avoid falling on the snow at his feet. He looks down at his poor daemon still struggling to keep up with him, and can't help but see in her the representation of how angry and humiliated he feels. He looks away.  
Sensing his discomfort, the daemon presses her muzzle against his leg in a rare affectionate gesture.  
«I hate him.»  
There is no need to specify who exactly he is talking about for Prislovì to know. Like him, she herself is still shaking in badly suppressed anger and shared pain from the injuries they suffered during the battle. But what comes out of her mouth just a moment later is utterly unexpected and forces Giriko to forget for a moment whatever thoughts of venegance he had been harbouring to look directly at her, leaving behind the pain, and the cold, and that damned snow that keeps falling down and covering every inch of their surroundings so that he hardly knows where they are going, at this point.  
«Quit that nonsense, you know it's not true.» the daemon says.  
«What?»  
«You said you hate him. That's bullshit. You like him because he's the first one who put up a real fight with us in such a long time and despite how much you would like to hate him, you actually don't. You respect him. I can _feel_ it.»  
Prislovì is right, of course she is. She is _his damned soul_ for fuck's sake! And she always had the awful habit of speaking her -or his, or their- mind at the worst possible moments.  
But Giriko, being who he is, does not really like to hear someone telling the harsh truth straight to his face. Not even when his own daemon, who is technically part of him, is the one who does it.  
So he straightens his back -or tries to-, picks up Prislovì and lets her climb on the back of his shoulders, biting off a curse under his breath at the pain that shoots through his broken limbs, and hearing the daemon respond with an equally bitter growl. He resumes walking.  
«Are you gonna pretend you didn't hear a thing I said?»  
The woods are silent, the shouts and screams of the ongoing battle are now way too far from them to be heard.  
He keeps walking, red blood stains marking his path on the once immaculate blanket of snow. His daemon, curled around his neck, closes her eyes and snorts.

**Author's Note:**

> Can't belive this is actually my first time writing in English. But here we are.  
> Also, big thanks to Randomnickname, because without our ramblings and headcanons about Soul Eater and daemons, this little fic would probably have never seen the light of day.  
> I'm currently thinking of writing a follow up, but who knows! Stay tuned!


End file.
